


the beauty of this mess is that it brings me close to you

by ryozumi



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryozumi/pseuds/ryozumi
Summary: If he’s being honest with himself - a rare event - he’s flustered by the exasperation softening Gaku’s eyes. At the same time, he’s unspeakably revolted by (and therefore extremely concerned about) the fact that Gaku has such terrible taste in men, considering his taste apparently includes him. “This is gonna be one hell of a show, isn’t it?”“You're still calling it practice? That hurts, you know. I put everything I had into that speech and you aren’t taking me seriously.”“What else could it be?” he counters with a harsh laugh, breaking eye contact and deliberately ignoring Gaku's wounded tone.Gaku sighs, fingers digging into Yamato’s skin to pull his attention back. “A confession. To you.”





	the beauty of this mess is that it brings me close to you

If Yamato weren't so captivated by the novelty of a blushing Yaotome Gaku, he'd be able to immediately critique at least six different things about the man's performance, starting with the choice location of a bench in the backyard of the IDOLiSH7 dorms and ending with the delivery of his horrifyingly romantic words. Moreover, the uncertain, hesitant lilt to Gaku’s words gives the impression of a novice actor practicing for an overly dramatic confession scene, and any character worthy of being played by Yaotome Gaku would never be so openly nervous at a time like this, not even if he were forced to do it in the middle of a crowd.

_That was pathetic_ , is the immediate reply hanging off the tip of his tongue when Gaku asks Yamato for his opinion, but something about the way Gaku’s hands twist into the expensive fabric of his coat gives Yamato pause. Concerned, his eyes trail up over Gaku's stiff shoulders to the comically deep flush on his cheeks, his furrowed brows, and finally settle on the gaze trained on him so resolutely it’s painful to hold it. For a man normally brimming with confidence, Gaku’s shrinking back awfully easily with every second the silence drags out. Rather than waiting for his performance to be critiqued with his usually receptive attitude he must be waiting - no, the light in his eyes can't be mistaken for anything but hope - _hoping_ for something more meaningful, and the longer Yamato sits there in his confused stupor not saying a word in response, the more the silence speaks for him.

“Nikaido?”

“It, uh, needs some work,” he offers, blinking away his confusion to the best of his ability. Giving acting advice must be the most ironic time possible to fail in controlling your own expression, he thinks, mentally kicking himself for the delayed reaction.

“Needs some work,” Gaku repeats slowly, squinting at Yamato like he's sprouting a second head.

Yamato rubs the side of his neck self-consciously, half-worried something is actually there, growing with every word like Pinocchio’s nose every time he lies. “Yeah. Are you auditioning for a new drama or something? Broadening your horizons? You have a solid foundation for the character, but he’s lacking a lot of confidence for a role you're playing.”

“Lacking confidence? What does that - no, nevermind that, _auditioning? Character?_ ” He lifts a knee onto the bench and swivels to face Yamato fully. “The hell are you talking about?”

Apprehensive, Yamato scoots further down the bench, holding up a hand between them as if it could ward off the increasingly large sense of doom looming over him. “Wasn’t that practice just now?”

“Why the hell would I _practice_ this with you? Was it so bad you'd try to make me feel better by suggesting it was scripted?”

Yamato’s no longer sure they're on the same page at all - not sure the two of them ever were. An inkling of a suspicion has his stomach sinking at a sickeningly rapid pace. _There’s no way._ “No, well, I mean… Wasn't it? Don't you have a script with you or something? Let me see it so we can wrap this up already.”

“Script…? Nikaido, what exactly do you think this is?”

The inkling morphs into a dreadful thought at the sight of genuine confusion and aggravation clouding over Gaku’s bright eyes. All the blood in his body follows his stomach to the floor, leaving a forlorn emptiness behind, churning and roiling and threatening to make an appearance in this rapidly devolving disaster of a situation.

“Yaotome.” Gaku’s name comes out dry, cracked. He tries again, licks his lips. Huffs out a painful breath of laughter. “That wasn't the real thing, was it?”

“If you have to ask like that, don't you think you already know the answer?”

Most likely, the man at his side isn't asking for advice - never was. Nor was his speech practice of any kind. Probably, most likely, Yaotome Gaku - the Most Desired Embrace in Japan - just confessed to _him_ , Nikaido Yamato. And maybe, probably, most likely, unless Yamato is completely mistaken, he is now sitting here waiting for an answer with bated breath.

An answer. Regarding Yamato’s thoughts. Feelings. About. _That_.

About...Gaku.

Yamato’s expression blanks as hundreds of warning bells go off simultaneously, screeching at him to run, to flee the scene. Thousands of thoughts fly through his mind at high speeds, desperately searching for any excuse to _get him out of this_ , or, by some miracle, change the subject to anything that doesn’t require an acknowledgement and/or an examination of _why_ his face is reddening, _why_ his heart’s working double time, or _why_ he has to actively work to deny his brain even a single second of opportunity to ponder those  _thoughts_ and _feelings_ which are coincidentally growing larger proportionate to the shortened proximity between his and Gaku's faces.

“Hey...you look sick all of a sudden. You okay?”

_Am I ever?_ he laughs internally, angling his gaze so the frames of his glasses block Gaku from view; it's nothing short of impossible to face him now, much less breathe a single word to assuage the man’s obvious concern. His white-knuckled fists fastidiously grip the metal beneath them, but sheer willpower alone is the only thing preventing him from running at maximum speed. _There's no way any of this is okay_.

Yamato’s so desperate to concentrate on anything and everything aside from what Gaku may or may not be asking of him that he doesn't notice Gaku’s hand until the heat of it warms his skin as it brushes stray hair behind his ear, deliberately avoiding his glasses.

“Hey. Look at me.”

At this point, his mind is so far removed that he can’t fight as his body betrays him, turning towards Gaku’s low voice and inviting his palm to flatten over Yamato’s cheek, as if subconsciously seeking his warmth. Against every fiber of his being shouting a last warning not to give in for his own good, he glances over and meets Gaku’s gray eyes again.

The steadfastness with which he holds Yamato's attention is enough to force most of Yamato's desire to run out of the metaphorical door.

Mere seconds ago, Gaku had been rattled by Yamato’s silence, the fear of rejection visible beneath his sturdy exterior. Now, his gaze is focused and firm, his own fears momentarily silenced as he tends to a shaken Yamato.

Each and every color around him falls away as he’s overwhelmed by the gray of Gaku’s eyes and hair, by the white of his pale skin and by the deep black of the surrounding night.

Yamato wouldn't mind getting lost in this monochrome world. No color in the universe could convey as much warmth as Gaku’s eyes do in this moment, as he gazes at Yamato with an almost distressing amount of tenderness.

That's when it strikes him like a metal baseball bat to the gut. It's more than distressing, it's _familiar_ : from dimly lit bars quieted by a late night ambience, over tables littered with empty bottles and trash; from lengthy interviews about movies, in uncomfortable chairs made bearable by pointless chatter between questions; from the chaotic aftermath of a live, a broad hand clapped to his back and a smile stunning enough to short circuit an internal security system painstakingly constructed specifically to block out all who would seek to break their way in.

There's countless more memories flooding through him now, of Gaku giving him this same transparently concerned gaze, like he sees straight through the countless barriers Yamato’s erected because he’s just that honest and straightforward and why does Yamato bother trying to hide anything at all?

In hindsight, Yamato really should have seen this coming.

An enormous lump sticks in his throat. Each intelligible, witty, or defensive phrase he’s pre-programmed into his speech gets caught on it, rendering him speechless. If there are no words left to hide behind, well, he may as well be completely defenseless.

With nothing left to hide behind, he decides it's better to simply abandon all pretenses. There's no point acting otherwise when Gaku’s looking at him like _that_ with his fingers threading through his hair.

If he’s being honest with himself - a rare event - he’s flustered by the exasperation softening Gaku’s eyes. At the same time, he’s unspeakably revolted by (and therefore extremely concerned about) the fact that Gaku has such terrible taste in men, considering his taste apparently includes _him_. “This is gonna be one hell of a show, isn’t it?”

“You're still calling it practice? That hurts, you know. I put everything I had into that speech and you aren’t taking me seriously.”

“What else could it be?” he counters with a harsh laugh, breaking eye contact and deliberately ignoring Gaku's wounded tone.

Gaku sighs, fingers digging into Yamato’s skin to pull his attention back. “A confession. To you.”

Drawn to doubt like a moth to a flame, Yamato snaps his eyes over once again. “And why would Yaotome Gaku ever seriously confess to me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” He tilts his head as he strokes his fingers down Yamato’s cheek, smile amused, touch far too gentle.

If it were obvious, he wouldn't be asking.

Yamato’s wholly undeserving of such care. He doesn't _want_ it. He’d rather be broken into a thousand irreparable pieces than have Gaku gaze at him like a priceless treasure the way he is now.

Yamato doesn't need an answer after all.

Unable to bear the heat of Gaku’s hand on his face, Yamato grips it tightly with his own - much more tightly than necessary, as if to negate the gentility of Gaku’s touch - and pries it away. Their hands hover awkwardly in the space between them, Gaku reluctant to part and Yamato cursing how unreasonably difficult it is let go.

Gaku, ever immune to the tension in the atmosphere, flips his grip and drags Yamato’s very sweaty hand up to his very sensual lips. _Oh_ , he thinks stupidly, swallowing thickly as skin meets skin. Overly romantic gestures aren’t Yamato’s thing (nor is romance in general) but on Gaku, moves like this are natural, refreshing - in a charming yet infuriating way.

Gaku rewards him with a cheeky grin, and Yamato suddenly has half a mind to put on a real show to prove what it means to deliver an impactful performance. Not by changing the subject, not by fleeing, but by playing off this whole thing in its entirety. He would (he’s done it before), except on top of being attractive and confident, Yaotome Gaku is earnest and passionate and...and currently staring him down like he's watching every thought passing through Yamato's pea-sized brain.

But most importantly, a useless fragment of humane compassion Yamato normally keeps under lock and key threatens to break out of its box and run rampant at the thought of doing so, and dealing with that is far more of a pain than dealing with Gaku will ever be.

...Come to think of it, he’s always been a pain to deal with anyway.

He doesn't mind the thought nearly as much as he should.

Yamato repeats this revelation aloud, absently dreading the ultimate depth of the hole he's digging for himself, but he already feels trapped too deep to ever actually claw himself out. What could going a little deeper hurt.

The abrupt admission causes Gaku’s catlike eyes to widen with surprise, which morphs into amusement in seconds. His eyes narrow into slits and his nose scrunches and he snickers into his free hand like it's the dumbest thing he's heard all day and yet nothing could possibly make him happier. A light blush over his pale cheeks is the only indication of what Yamato gauges to be embarrassment.

Yamato’s cheeks flush deeper, half in irritation and half in embarrassment as well, because he's never seen Gaku _snicker_ and something about his breathy laughter has the world spinning dangerously fast.

Desperate to escape the mortifying effects Gaku’s outburst has on his own composure, he unceremoniously yanks Gaku’s hand down and, squeezing both of them with both of his so he doesn't lose himself to the impulse, kisses him to shut him the hell up.

Frankly, one more second would've been all it took to sweep his feet out from underneath and send Yamato helplessly crashing right into him. If he's gonna add that to the list of self-destructive things he really shouldn't do tonight but is likely going to anyway, he's gonna do it by keeping firmly to himself exactly how hard he's falling.

Gaku’s surprised, if the way he grunts is anything to go by. Briefly, he worries he's made an unwanted advance, but the way Gaku relaxes into it a mere moment after the thought occurs sends a wave of relief flooding through him.

Gaku reciprocates the tight grip; it's equally reassuring. He hates it.

Only a little bit, though. Perhaps even more than that, he hates how his hands are currently the only part of his body Gaku’s touching.

It's not enough. Maybe, he thinks, _maybe_ , once in a while, it’d be good to let himself have what he wants.

That threat of indulgence sends Yamato leaping back so quickly Gaku would be nursing a broken nose if not for his remarkable reflexes. Dazed, Gaku attempts to resituate himself on the bench, mouth caught in a small “o” shape that Yamato might find hilarious under any other circumstance, except Yamato’s currently preoccupied desperately gathering his own wits about him after his momentary lapse of...of...whatever that was.

Gaku recovers quickly; perhaps taking advantage of his distraction, he scoots forward until their knees bump into each other and jolt Yamato out of his thoughts.

Throwing up a cross with his hands might be a bit much, so Yamato opts for a defiant scoot back. Gaku closes the distance, determination clear in his eyes, forcing Yamato to retreat again and initiating a cycle of repetition broken when Yamato nearly slides his own ass off the edge of the bench.

He only gets a glimpse of Gaku’s face as the world tilts. Hastily, Yamato throws his hands out to catch purchase on something, anything -  _there_ \- and only when he relaxes down onto the relative safety of the metal does he realize what his hands grabbed onto.

It’s got to be some kind of ploy. There’s no way in hell Gaku didn't plan to scare Yamato off the bench just to save him like a damsel in distress.

Gaku’s hands are warm around his, just as warm as they were moments ago, grip just as tight.

“Nikaido.”

Yamato tries to reclaim his hands, but Gaku won't release them. He wishes Gaku had let him fall.

“ _Nikaido_. Stop.”

Okay. Maybe that wish is a lie.

Gaku clears his throat and repeats his name a third time, tugging on his fingers to draw his attention. “You kissed me just now.”

“...Isn’t that obvious?” he relents, a mockery of Gaku’s earlier line, as he attempts to loosen Gaku’s iron grip.

“Why? Because you like me?”

Yamato, apparently, is a master at letting silence speak for itself. Gaku hums a thoughtful sound and relaxes his grip; Yamato doesn't miss the chance to snatch his hands back. While he appears a little disappointed, there's no mistaking it’s overpowered by the pleased look dancing in his silvery eyes.

The smile irritates him irrationally, adding some unintentional bite to his next remark. “That's a little sudden, asking like that...”

Gaku frowns (no, wait, is that a _pout?_ ) and crosses his arms. “That's my line. You’re the one who kissed me out of nowhere.”

Yamato shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but his response comes out far meeker than intended. “...It’s not the same.”

“Don’t see how it isn't. So?"

"So...?"

"Do you?"

"That's...um. Well."

"I'm asking you to tell me how you feel. What's with that half-assed response?”

“W-Well,” he starts weakly, scrambling for a foothold in the conversation to avoid getting swept up in Gaku’s pace. He’s not quite sure how to say he’d had no intention of ever even _acknowledging_ his feelings before ten minutes ago, much less _acting_ on them, _much less_ dealing with the consequences of doing so. “It’s not like you really need me to say it, do you? After that.”

“...Huh?”

Yamato sighs, scratching at his cheek with a finger. He's going to regret his next words far more than he’ll regret that kiss, but he's already humiliated himself plenty tonight. Again, what could a little more hurt. “Haven't I shown you enough for you to understand?"

A nerve-wracking pause. Yamato desperately fights back another blush under Gaku’s heavy stare.

“Oh. You're embarrassed. That's cute.”

“Shut up.”

“I like it, though. You won’t tell me?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Then, I’ll make do. It’s a little exciting thinking of all the other ways you can show me.”

Yamato wishes he could wipe Gaku’s shitty grin away. Preferably using a poster of his unnecessarily pretty face.

“I'm not showing you anything else, you idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> apparently, it's my life's mission to never write the same ship twice
> 
> i sat on this for months and i kinda still hate it but thanks to [ken](https://twitter.com/glitchgoat) for doing the beta read, it actually helped me hate it a little bit less
> 
> thanks for reading!! follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sobaya_san) for lots of crying over yamato and gaku !!


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